You
by P.Crespi
Summary: Sei finds herself in a pickle when Youko's mother asks the blonde for a favor.


A/N: Hello!

I hope everyone is doing well :)

This is an M-rated story because of sexual content. There's also cursing, because apparently I can't write a clean story - especially when Sei is involved.

Let me know what you think, and thank you for reading!

* * *

As soon as I ring the doorbell, I regret being there, standing in front of those stupid double doors, perfectly stained in the most elegant auburn I have ever seen, all the while staring at the roses planted on the side of that house, and since Chinensis were perennials, one could see them, here and there, painting the greenery that unmistakable shade of red.

Knowing very well the variety of the Yamayurikai roses and their distinctions, nobody had ever questioned the reasons why only the Chinensis kind bathed that front-yard; the Foetida was smelly, Gigantea was wild, so Chinensis it was – appropriately, I must add.

"Sei!" The door swings open and I squirm awkwardly when Mizuno-sama squeezes my bones in a tight hug. Though, I let her – Mizuno-sama is a wonderful woman; patient, stern, well-read, terrifyingly perceptive. And she likes me, treats me like family; wants nothing but the best for me.

I like her, too – don't get me wrong. She has been a second mother to me, taking me under her wings and protecting me as if I was her own. I have lost count of how many times she has bailed me out of the weirdest situations I found myself in, especially during my first year of University. And she always drops me off back at my dorm room with a bag full of food, a bright smile, and a, "These are the best years of your life, Sei. If you're not getting in trouble, you're not growing."

"Mizuno-sama," I attempt, still wrapped around those morphing tentacles she disguises as arms.

When she finally lets go of me, she asks, "Did you find them?"

"Yeah! Apparently they have these everywhere now," I respond, rummaging through the convenience store bag I'm holding, then I show her the bottle she had asked me to buy earlier.

"Oh Lord! Thank you so much, Sei!"

"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa!" I say when she walks by me, extending her arm and pointing to her car. Then I hear it unlock, "Where—"

"I gotta go! Gotta go! Gotta go!" She says frantically, borderline crazy, "YoYo is in the back," she finishes with a shout, and from the steps I watch her close the car door and drive away.

 _YoYo is in the back_. Mizuno-sama hasn't changed a bit, even as Youko bloomed from the skinny thing she had been when we first met, to the full-chested woman she had become as we graduated, Mizuno-sama has always seen Youko as the tiny little girl she had once been. And I know very well she also sees me in the same light, a little troubled child, which truthfully, is okay with me because Mizuno-sama is not far from the truth.

"What the fuuuuuuuuck…" I let the air out of my lungs. Though Mizuno-sama makes it seem as if I had just been invited for dinner the night before, the truth of the matter is: I haven't seen Youko in months.

And I wasn't planning on seeing her until the next time Yumi decided to bring everyone else together again. I'd act like a smart ass, tease Sachiko, grope Yumi, push Yoshino's buttons until she told me to fuck off, and we'd go on with our lives as if we were still the same kids we were when we first met.

Yet, we weren't, and we knew it very well. It was plastered on faces, scored on arms, ankles, and thighs for posterity, wrapped around ring fingers in a constant reminder that love was not enough – love didn't move mountains. Love just tore us from ourselves, leaving us frameless, a ghost of what we once thought we'd become. Love was shit, and I had tried, over and over again, to warn them –all of them, with no exclusions – that it would burn souls to their core, leaving an unrecognizable pile of pain and tears behind.

Love was shit.

I was okay with it, not seeing Youko, I mean. I had convinced myself that it was better that way; that it was better if we didn't speak, or saw each other, or did anything that would have made me say things I had promised myself I wouldn't.

Things like:

 _"I've missed you."_

 _"I've been thinking of you."_

 _"I've been thinking of us."_

And I admit that in the beginning I was too chicken shit to accept the fact that somehow, even after I had forbidden myself, even after I had built a wall of briars around my heart, Mizuno Youko had found a way to seep through the cracks of my resolve, making a home inside my chest.

She knew exactly what she had done. We were both offenders, accomplices of a crime we committed by the choices we refused to make. Youko, in her own way, was as guilty as I was, waltzing around me for years, terrified I'd flee had she alluded to my feelings toward her. And who was to blame her when I remained quiet, worried that if I opened my mouth, I'd blow up like a ticking bomb, completely destroying what was left of our friendship?

Cowardly, we waded through the same storm alone.

Closing the door behind me, I stop by the kitchen, grabbing two spoons and a glass of water, then I walk to her room.

I knock once and nobody answers. Then I knock a few more times before I hear a muffled and tired, "Come in."

Her voice is soothing, a respite for my weary soul. I don't remember when I started to feel that way, but somehow, in the midst of our last year of high school and first year of college, the directedness of her sentences had gone from demanding and meddling to familiar and comforting. Maybe it was the fact that more and more I had craved that melodious sound her syllables made, or maybe it was the fact that I had finally, after so many years, accepted the fact that I liked Mizuno Youko.

In the silence of that hallway, my knees wobble, but I manage to take a deep breath and pull myself back together before walking in.

"I don't need anything," she is facing the wall when she speaks.

"But I have drugs," I say, waiting until she turns toward me to continue, "I also have chocolate, potato chips, ice cream…" I show her the bag, a tacky smile plastered on my face in an attempt to hide my inability to be myself around her. My heart pounding against my chest, like a wild animal.

 _I feel faint._

To say I had forgotten how beautiful she was was a lie. Her face has been traced in my memory with permanent ink, but even though I know by heart every line of her face, every sharp and hollow point, standing in front of her still, after all of these years, takes my breath away.

Placing the glass of water and the spoons on top of her nightstand, I add in anticipation, "Your mom called." I want to make sure she knows that my being there had been Mizuno-sama's sole idea.

She doesn't answer for a long time.

She just stares at me like I have two heads.

But then she says, "I know," drily, extending one of her arms out of the blanket.

It's my turn to stare at her.

"Two please," she says, then wiggles her fingers.

"Oh," I blurt out like a fucking idiot, then, once again, plunge inside the plastic bag for what feels like an eternity, until I fish out the bottle of painkillers, tearing the box to pieces then twisting the bottle open. I can feel the flush on my face, and it tingles weirdly, maybe because I have also long forgotten to breath.

Inhaling; however, means I'd have a chest full of her – not that it wasn't incredible to have that scent in my nostrils, but because that euphoria always leaves a terribly bitter aftertaste.

"Here," I hand her two pills, the tip of my fingers grazing the palm of her hands, that softness shooting jolts of electricity up my arm, straight to my heart. I gasp clumsily, my lungs expanding, air finally reaching my brain.

She thanks me quietly, a politeness we both know she doesn't have to make use of.

When neither an interrogation nor an invitation for me to leave comes, I am truly perplexed, so I simply stand there, watching her move sluggishly until she is finally sitting down on her bed.

Then, she reaches for the glass of water and brings it to her mouth after she pops in the pills.

She has no make-up on and her hair is a mess, yet, she manages to be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. _How is that even possible?_

"One of the bad ones, huh?" I ask trying to make small talk.

"The worst I've had in a while."

"The pills should kick in soon, though."

"I just wish there was something that could make it go away right away," she sounds dejected.

"Well…" I start, like an asshole, because I have always been an asshole and I can't help but act like one, especially when I find myself alone with her. It's like there's this force which puts the worst words in my mouth at the most inappropriate times, "There _is_ one thing you can do," I announce, and add a chuckle in the end, just to make sure the douchebagery comes through nicely.

Youko places the glass of water back on her nightstand, and with the straightest of faces she can muster she addresses me in all of her Rosa Chinensis seriousness, "Do tell me what that would be, Satou Sei."

"Well," I say again, then all but shove my face inside the plastic bag, "I don't think chocolate will help that fast, and ice-cream probably won't do the job either, but…" I lift my head from the bag, my face red as a fucking beet, but the gobbling inside of me is stronger than my dignity, "An orgasm should help with those cramps."

"Sei-san…" she says calmly, like I'm an annoying child asking _why_ for the millionth time, and I was truly surprised that she didn't use the honorific –chan instead of –san.

"I'm serious!" My voice cracks, and I see her fight the smirk which tugs at the corner of her lips – driving me insane because I want to see it so badly. I want to see that full smile, the one she only has for me, the one that always says, "I love even the weaknesses in you, you idiot."

Immediately, a voice inside my head tells me that the smile which I thought had only belonged to me, is somebody else's by now. And who was I to think something was mine without ever claiming it? Who was I to expect Mizuno Youko to wait until I garnered the courage to tell her I couldn't get her off my mind? Who the fuck was I to assume she could have seen me as anything other than a charity case? – Where she felt compelled to patch up my wounds after Shiori left, then to find me a petite soeur when I had started to drift away without my Onee-sama there to bring me back ashore.

I had absolutely no right to expect Youko to say the things which weren't said by me. Because ultimately, that fire that burned in my chest belonged to me, the shaking fingers when I found myself in a room alone with her, were mine. Mine were also the flushed face and the trembling voice when she was the subject of a conversation. All of those ill-equipped feelings were mine, and so was this craven silence.

Understanding that I had been too late, I continue as the Satou Sei she expects me to be, "Don't tell me you've never…"

"That is not for you to speculate."

"So…you've never masturbated before…" I continue with the tease.

"Of course I have," she answers matter-of-factly.

"Then, do it! Let's see!"

"Like I would ever do those things in front of anyone."

"…Just trying to help," I add, lifting both my hands up at shoulder-level, palms facing her as if pleading innocence.

"…"

"…" I can see the gears turning inside her head. I wait.

"If you're so experienced…" she starts, leaning forward, forearms on her thighs, hands clasped together, "…then how about you teach me your best practices?"

My jaw drops.

"…"

"What do you say, Satou Sei?"

"…You…want me to show you?"

She nods her head as she responds flatly, "Yes."

"…"

"…"

I choose not to speak for a long time, then taking a deep breath, I place the plastic bag on the nightstand by the water and slowly make my way toward the door.

For a second she thinks I'm leaving because when I turn my back to her, she gasps and speaks my name softly, like she has always done when she doesn't want me to be mad at her. I know her well, too – I know the nuances of her voice, her choice of words for every situation, her ticks, and her quirks. To say I didn't know her was to say I didn't know my own heart.

Grabbing the doorknob, I push the door open, sticking my head out in the hallway to look both ways, then I look back to catch a glimpse of that smile I love so much when she finally realizes I'm staying. Though that smirk comes and goes way too soon as she isn't going to let me have what I want that easily – and how fitting it is to think that everything that has to do with Mizuno Youko has to be difficult, laborious, borderline unreasonable.

I guess that makes things all the more worth the wait.

Bringing my head back inside, I close the door in front of me. Although I know we are the only ones in the house at that time, I just want to be safe. Then, turning around, I lean back against the door while my hands reach for my belt. Holding the strap with one hand, I pull it to the side and as soon as the prong disconnects from the hole I proceed to unbutton and unzip my jeans. Only then I turn my head to the side to find Youko sitting on her bed with her legs crossed in front of her, arms behind her back holding her weight, her hands are pressed tightly against the comforter, indenting her mattress ever so slightly.

"Are you sure you want to see?" I ask one more time for good measure, and wait until she gives me a slow nod as response.

"Okay," I say. Then I slide my right hand down my own pants, between my undies and my jeans at first, my fingers traveling up and down slowly.

As I continue to touch myself, I think of the last chapter of a manga I had read the night before, where two girls end up fucking on the kitchen table – _there, I have found the distraction I need to stop thinking of the voyeur staring at me at that moment_. I close my eyes, I picture girl number one lifting girl number two up and placing her delicately on the table while she unbuttons girl number two's jeans, taking them off and letting them fall to the floor. I think of girl number one kissing girl number two as her fingers make their way inside girl number two's panties. Girl number two gasps when she feels a finger slip inside her. And I gasp with her, when my fingers find the warmth inside myself.

The scene keeps playing in my head. Girl number one pressing her tongue between girl number two's legs, and I bring my hand from the leg of my undies, all the way out, then back in again, from the waistline that time. And as I work my fingers in a circular motion around my clit, Youko, instead of girl number one, is on her knees, and I have both my hands on the back of her head, bringing her closer to me. I ride her face.

I open my eyes hastily, my gaze traveling across the room and landing on Youko, though my hand never stops, my eyes never leave her.

She doesn't look away either.

I press on.

My nostrils flare at one point and I feel my chest tighten, and I feel it come with a strength which I had never felt on my own before – so I hold on to the door frame with my left hand trying to stabilize myself, my breathing uneven, my lungs pleading for air. A wave of warmth rises from my body, and I stare at Youko, wishing my hand is her hand when I quiver, the back of my head digging against the wooden door, my back arching, heels plowing the ground.

I come.

Even still, even as my legs can't hold my weight any longer and I hit the floor breathless, I can't take my eyes off of her.

"Your turn," I say at last.

"Uh…"

"Uh…" I copy her awkwardly, getting up from the floor only to take a couple of steps and sit on the bed in front of her, "Are you still hurting?" I ask, my voice a bit softer than usual.

She nods.

"Have you…" I trail off, but she remains silent.

"Whether you have or not, you need to get in there first. I promise you, you'll feel better," I try to be encouraging.

Youko, who has always been an A student, watches me intently as I try to explained where she needs to go using the most anatomically-correct terms I can remember –Biology has never been my forte anyway– and though I'm sure she has touched herself before, she humors me quietly.

Then without much hesitation she lifts her shirt up and slips her hand inside her pants.

I try not to gasp, though I feel as if her hand has touched both of us – not only her.

Somehow, I'm delighted to hear her inhale deeply after only a few strokes, and as I watch her abs contract when her fingers travel all the way south then back north, I can't fight the loud sigh that escapes my lips.

Hiding the fact that I had wanted her for years was not that hard a task to accomplish – I thought –when we were around our friends, but sitting on her bed, watching her bite her bottom lip while she works herself up with her own hand; that, made things terribly difficult for me.

Her head still down she looks up at me with the most innocent face she could have made at that time, then she smiles. _"I love even the weaknesses in you,"_ I read in her eyes. And it's all the permission I need to dive forward and press my hand between her legs, atop of the thin fabric of her pajamas, until I can feel the back of her fingers mold against the palm of my hand.

All the while I watch her, as my hand pushes firmly against hers, as my face grows closer to her face, as my lips graze her lips, and like that one time in the Rose Mansion, when we fought about Shimako, and I, childishly, raised my hand as if to strike her, she doesn't flinch, she doesn't retreat, she doesn't waiver. Youko stands her ground, neither giving me the go ahead, nor pushing me away – as always, she waits for me.

My lips crash atop of hers at the same time my hand finally finds solace inside her pants, flush to her knuckles.

She leans back, straddling her hips I press my mouth against hers, all but drawing blood from her lips when I kiss her with all the want I have bottled up inside my chest; with the weight of every single word I have refrained from telling her:

 _"I want you."_

 _"I need you."_

 _"I'm in love with you."_

 _"Can you hear me?"_ My heart screams.

She moans inside my mouth when instead of her fingers, she feels mine against her. I feel her wetness on the tip of my digits, drenching the string of the tampon which had accidentally been pushed up when we had fiddled with our hands. Carefully, I pick the string up and move it out of the way so I can continue to draw small circles all around her.

"Is this okay?" I whisper the questions in her ear.

Youko deserves all of the sweetness the world could offer her. She deserves the softest of the touches, the longest of kisses. She deserves to be loved, adored, revered.

Youko deserves the world. And I know very well I can't give her half those things – I can't even tell her how I feel. I've never been able to muster the courage to face her, and scream at the top of my lungs inside that crappy meeting room in the Rose Mansion how much I cherish her, even though I know she knows I have feelings for her. Even though I know she knows the exact reason why I turned into a psychopath around her, nitpicking every decision she made, complaining about the deadlines she established, mocking her words, undermining her leadership. She knew everything, and she let me squirm, expand, and contract inside my own skin, without saying anything, simply sitting there, waiting for my hand to come down and strike her on the face.

Though, like all of the other times, I never followed through with anything.

I digress. Mizuno Youko deserves the sun and the moon. And she deserves a love as deep as the deepest ocean.

"Sei…" she says my name, my bottom lip between her teeth.

I take that as yet another invitation.

Lifting her shirt up, my left hand finds one of her exposed breasts as I abandon her lips to bite the apex of her other mound.

She hisses, her back arching, her hips rising forth, flush against my fingers. Then both her hands find home in my hair, she pulls it firmly, unlatching my mouth from her nipple with a loud pop, "Did I hurt yo—" she brings my face toward hers, her mouth finding mine before I can finish my question, her tongue waging war on mine, wreaking havoc in my already desolated heart.

"Sei…" she repeats inside my mouth as if it's the only word left in her vocabulary. I inhale that warm breath like it was my last.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, and with fingers still lost in the mess of my hair, her lips come to an abrupt halt, her face so serious I think for a second she has finally realized she doesn't want to be there with me atop of her, one of my hand shoved between her legs, her nipple between my thumb and index fingers – Maria-sama would _not_ approve.

"I love you," comes the cloying whisper instead of the admonishment, throwing me for a loop, making me gasp, my heart missing a beat.

No, I'm pretty sure my heart has stopped beating altogether.

I stare at her for a long time, speechless, my limbs trembling, a buzzing in my ears, my mind a blur, then I feel warm tears roll down my cheeks. Not knowing what to do, I bury my face in her chest and what was still left of her shirt, and I break down like I have never done in front of anyone else before. Like a child who has lost their dog, I weep for what seems like an eternity, until my throat is dry and raw, until my chest feels like exploding. I can't explain it, I can't put a finger on how I feel: hot, cold, numb, hypersensitive, happy, and sad – everything, all at once; everything, neatly packed in three words _I_ should have told her so long ago.

All the while, she holds on to me, both arms wrapped tightly around my frame, "Sweetheart…" she says softly when my sobbing subsides, "I can't do this to us anymore."

"…"

"I can't keep waiting for you to make up your mind, feeding my heart with scraps of your existence – stealing glances from across the room when all I want is your bare skin against mine. – I am done, Sei. I'm tired of walking on eggshells around you; frightened to death I'd melt into nothingness if I were to accidentally touch you. I'm done waiting… I hope to God you are, too."


End file.
